Serving Time - A UsUk fanfiction
by Dontstealmywifi
Summary: After failing in his attempts to shoplift, Arthur Kirkland, a convicted drug dealer and addict, is arrested and forced face-to-face with a handsome young police officer- Alfred F. Jones. Through impossible odds, their love for each other begins to grow into something... else. Two years in prison sounds incredibly boring, but Arthur is sure he can find ways to pass the time...(smut)
1. Prologue

Hi, everyone, and welcome to my first ever fanfiction! This one is Hetalia (UsUk mainly,) but I may or may not throw in some other characters at random. Keep in mind that this is my first ever attempt at writing stuff like this, so please be kind J. Favouriting, Reviewing and following my account is always massively appreciated! But enough of that stuff. Just a warning- THIS STORY IS RATED M FOR A REASON. SMUTTY SMUT SMUT! I haven't written any yet but it will be soon to come.

Enjoy!

Arthur stared down at the ground nonchalantly and pretended like all was well. Clenching his wrists inside his large blue shirt pockets, he carried on perusing the back shelves in his oversized uniform. If he could pull this off, life would be good. Just a few more nudges with the back of his elbow and the box would fall straight into his pocket- simple.

Well, easier said than done. Arthur seemed to be bad at a lot of things, from cooking to washing dishes to even having a bath, and now he could also add shoplifting to the list.

Great.

Still, he had hope for this. If he could just have another pack of cigs by tonight, he'd be happy. Luckily he had found a petrol station close to his caravan and applied there, and here he was now- an idiot drug-addict employee in a deadbeat Bristol 7-11 trying his hardest to steal a packet of Marlboros.

Just one more nudge…

"What the hell are you doing?!" Shouted John, Arthur's boss.

Crap.

Sliding over the counter, he made a dash for the sliding door, only to slam his face into the clear blue-tinted glass. He'd rammed his head into the top of an ice-cream compartment instead. How high was he?

And before he knew it, Arthur was outside the station with his hands raised high above his head, his bloodstream practically overflowing with heroine and that single packet of cigarettes he had worked so hard to steal firmly tucked in his back pocket. Blood pulsed through his brain as he stood in a daze, unfazed by the shouting of the police and his employer. It seemed like every time he blinked, time would fast-forward. Soon the sun in the sky had faded to just a dim line above the horizon and he was shoved into the paddy-wagon of that dreaded Government vehicle. Slowly, the car began to roll away, leaving that precious packet of cigarettes behind along with his hopes…


	2. Chapter 1

"Wake up."

Huh?

"I said wake up. I order you to."

Where was he? He slowly opened his eyes to find a blinding light just inches away from his face, searing his eyes and plunging into his brain. Looking around to escape the thing that made him squint, he became aware of where he was. It was a blank, empty room, with nothing but a white desk and two chairs separating him from some handsome yet strange figure in front of him.

"Wh-Who are you?"

"I never said that you could talk."

This place was scary. "My name is Officer Jones," the stranger said in a strong American accent, "You will respect me and my duty and you have the right to remain silent."

Already intimidated by this man's power and sheer force, Arthur shyed away. He knew that nothing good was to follow, and to make things worse his cigarettes were missing from his back pocket. So tempting it was to speak up, however he held his ground and let the man continue.

"Do you know why you're here, Kirkland?"

He kept silent.

"We have found on your file that you have been listed as a repeat offender for shoplifting, a convicted drug dealer and most recently have been found with over 4 pounds of cocaine in your Bristol apartment, and it is highly suggested to us that we test you for intoxication, whether it be alchohol or drugs. You are to co-operate and not make any sudden movements. You're facing a 2 year sentence if you're convicted of this, Kirkland. Don't make it any longer."

Well… shit. What could he do now? Nothing but do what was asked of him, Arthur supposed. Somehow, he didn't have any issues doing this. He'd questioned his sexuality before, but this man was the most strikingly gorgeous specimen he had ever seen. And his dominance just added to the appeal.

"No, sir. I won't."

"Great. Let's get to work, shall we?"

*** ARTHUR'S POV ***

His face instantly softened every time he glanced over at me, with those unforgetful piercing blue eyes that stared into my soul. I could feel his eyes constantly on me, moving up and down, examining me. Good, let him do that, I thought. Let him see what he can never have.

His voice cut through the silence like a dagger.

"Alright, I am going to need you to put this on your tongue."

There goes the sexy atmosphere.


	3. Chapter 2

*** ARTHUR'S POV***

The test was over and I had tested… Well, I don't know. Probably positive, knowing how much morphine I pumped into my system last night. All I can do now is wait for the court order and soon I'll be in my comfy jail cell.

As I lay down on my shitty studio apartment bed, I could not seem to get my mind off of that man. What was his name again? Alfred, I remembered. He was so… perfect in every way. Everything from his hair to his boots, and even his glasses had made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. 'Twas a feeling I had not gotten for a long time. Yet, I knew in my heart that a romance between us could never be. A prison guard and a criminal, somehow, weren't the perfect couple. Oh, how I tried to track that man down, but for seven months I had no luck. He was gone, and I was alone in my shitty Bristol apartment, with a packet of cigarettes in my back pocket.

Soon I would be serving time.

***ALFRED'S POV***

It's funny how some things happen. The world is so coincidental it feels almost like everything's on purpose.

Sometimes, I question my life. The way I've lived all these years. The things I'd seen have been so great- and yet I desire more. I want to live on the edge! To explore this ever-growing world we live in! I just want to be free.

Yet I know that this is not the case. I work at a good job in a good place with good people that have done nothing wrong, and every day the cycle continues. Sleep. Eat. Work. Repeat. Sleep. Eat. Work. Repeat. So much so do I desire a break from this prison that is life that I would do anything!

I'd been thinking back recently… about that man. You know, the one with the drug convictions? Although his life was so unorganized, he didn't care. He loved the way he lived- he loved the freedom it gave him. And through my nineteen years of living, I had never seen such a person. I tried so hard to find him again, but with no luck. Most criminals I had talked to were horrific beasts of a human being… but this one was different. I needed to talk to him, for I felt it was possible to make him turn his life around.

I felt it was possible to make him love me.


	4. Chapter 3

Beep. Beep.

Beep. Beep.

Shit, that's the landline. Pulling myself out of bed, I raced to the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is this Arthur Kirkland?" The voice was strong and intimidating, with an American accent. Somehow, I thought I recognised it from somewhere.

"Um, Yes?"

"Your court order has arrived. We have tried- repeatedly- sending you letters-"

"Oh, yeah, sorry about that," I chimed in. " 'Mailbox is broken."

"-But we've had no luck. So, to fill you in- you are expected in court on the 11th of August at exactly 9:00am to defend charges against you for serveral drug offenses, three cases of vandalism and seven recorded cases of shoplifting. Good luck, Kirkland." The voice paused for a moment, as if to say something, but no sound came. "…You're going to need it."

One final beep, and the phone was silenced. And then everything was quiet.

And I was alone.

What the hell had I done with my life?

I thought back to the days when I was younger. Painful, yet necessary to remember. What had driven me to the life of such a worthless imbecile like myself? Each memory pierced my skin like a tiny needle as I recalled my childhood.

It all started with father. That horrible, monstrous excuse for a human being I just happened to share a house with for the first six years of my life. Oh, the torment I faced. The screaming and shouting and all the pain I experienced was seeping into my veins, encapsulating me at such a young age. I could still feel the faint scars on my left shoulder twenty years later if I ran my hand over them. That was definitely the first stepping-stone to my insanity… And then, of course, came Francis. Fucking Francis. He showed me how to steal, he gave me my first batch of ecstasy. I was so innocent before, but at that point my life took a turn for the worst. Drugs and alcohol and tobacco; they consumed my soul and clouded my heart with adrenaline and false highs. At first it was an amazing escape from all of my worries, but I slowly craved more and more until my breath reeked of cigarettes, my cheeks were sunken and my skin was pale and wrinkled. I had jumped head-first into a pit of poison that was seemingly impossible to escape… and now look at me.

...The court order's set for tomorrow. I should find some clothes that aren't covered in filth.

This will take a while.

***ALFRED'S POV***

I can't believe it.

I can't fucking believe it.

He… forgot me.

I went through so much shit to be the one that made the call, and he didn't fucking remember me.

Maybe I can find him in the courthouse. Maybe he'll remember my face. Maybe he'll notice me then...

His court order's set for tomorrow. I should find some clothes that will make me look good.

This will take a while.


	5. Chapter 4

**Hey guys!**

**I don't know if I'm going to continue with this story or start a new one. if so, I need ideas! I think this story could be good, but... we'll see, I guess. Tell me if I should write something else! :)**

**-Sarah**

It's cold, it's wet, it's the eleventh of August. There are leaks in my roof and the walls are slowly caving in, and to top it all off, I'm expected to plead my case- without a lawyer, I couldn't afford one- in front of a judge and jury who will surely hate me on sight. I can't even catch a bus or taxi because my pension hasn't come in yet, so I have to walk for a bloody hour and a half. Why the hell is life so miserable?

I'm here, in court. I'm late. It's still cold, although I'm sweating. Part of me wishes there was a way out of this. I mean, pleading my own case? How the bloody hell is that supposed to work? There was no way I could win.

"Next case- Arthur Kirkland. You face allegations against you of taking and distributing illegal substances, repeat shoplifting offenses, and three cases of vandalism by the English Police. How do you plead?"

Hey, what the hell. I already knew I was going to jail.

"Guilty, your honour."

"Huh, I would have thought you'd put up a fight," snarled an officer to my left. I remained silent.

"We will now hear the prosecutor's evidence."

Two hours later, I was just about done with that government lawyer's attempts to bring to light every single detail of what I'd done wrong in my life. I get it. I KNOW I'M A FUCKING FAILURE.

"The jury will now deliberate."

After only half an hour, they emerged, faces lit up and smiling.

"What verdict have you decided on, judiciary?"

I braced myself for the bombshell that I knew was about to hit, closing my eyes so it would be less obvious when I cried.

"Guilty, your honour."

Looks like closing my eyes hasn't helped.

"Then I hereby sentence you, Arthur Kirkland, to 24 months in prison with a $100 000 bail."

It was at that point that I sunk to the ground in tears, trying to hold back the emotions that flowed through me so strongly- but failing miserably. There was no way I- or anyone around me- could afford that much money.

Part of me knew, when I entered into this life, that there would be dire consequences, but they were pushed to the back of my mind when intoxication first spread through my body. It was only now that I realised what I had done to myself.

Thanks to myself, I was about to spend 2 years in hell.

Nobody around me cared. Nobody gave a shit about me or my issues; they only watched onto me with stern faces and whispers. Scanning my eyes around the room, every person's face shows the same lack of emotion I used to see in my father. It made me despise them.

But as I became aware of it, I noticed one person who seemed different. A handsome young man wearing glasses looks intently at me, a tear running down his cheek. Why does he feel something for me when he is a complete stranger? Perhaps he is just putting himself into my shoes. However, the longer I stare at him the more familiar I become with his face. I must have seen him before. Perhaps an old friend or acquaintance- no- something more than that. My drug-intoxicated brain only tends to hold onto memories of the most important people in my life, so he must have made an impact on me somehow.

As I slowly walk out of the courtroom, the man stands up. His piercing blue eyes look sadly at me from behind his half-moon glasses as he walks towards me. The fact that somebody in this room cares about me enough to try and comfort me is almost enough to make me cry again. He stops just inches away from my face and looks, caressing my jawline with his soft, supple hands.

"Do you remember me, Arthur?" came that clearly distinguishable American accent.

Oh my god, it's him. IT'S HIM. The one I saw for such a short time that left such a long memory of him behind. The one who I'd tried to find for so long and never succeeded.

The one I vowed to meet again.

Alfred F. Jones.

"Oh, do I remember you."

His voice quietened as we left the building.

"Look, Arthur, I can't be found out talking to you. It's forbidden. I just want you to have my phone number in case you can use it." He handed me a sheet of paper. "Please, call me asking for anything you need." He stopped short for a moment. "Arthur-"

But he couldn't get a chance to finish before I was grabbed by a security guard.

"And what are you doing harassing this police officer, Kirkland? Begging another poor person for some drug money?"

"N-no, sir. I'll be on my way." And with that, after one last glance at Alfred, I started quickly walking home.

"Arthur, wait!"

I didn't hear him. I was already too far away- or maybe my brain was just too overflowed with information.

I can get through two years of prison, if I can talk to him.

I will do it. I will do it for him.


End file.
